


New Romantics

by NRGburst



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Gamora-centric, PWP, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Starmora
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NRGburst/pseuds/NRGburst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>'Cause baby I could build a castle/ Out of all the bricks they threw at me/ And every day is like a battle/ And every night with us is like a dream</em><br/> <br/>Figuring out freedom (Gamora-centric, Starmora, Found family)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Romantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because pelvic sorcery might actually exist. But she's almost certain it's merely biochemistry.

Gamora doesn’t really believe in sorcery, even if the way he’s making her feel is alarmingly irresistible. And she’s enjoying the way their bodies press together as if magnetically charged, exploring the warmth of his skin and the taste of his mouth: male with a hint of the brew he’d been drinking. She’s had a couple drinks as well, but she’s clearheaded: she recognizes that pheromones and instinct are behind the building urgency; the surge of hormones making her heart beat faster and her genitals ache in anticipation. He’s put on music- half cliché seduction tool and half because he’s Peter and he can’t move through life without his Terran soundtrack. She actually likes the melodies- besides, they’ll cover the sound of their coupling when their friends return to the Milano. And she’s sure she wants this- wants him despite all the reasons not to.

Resisting was conditioned reflex: Thanos had taught his daughters that attachments bring pain; that his dominion was the only true constant. Those brutal lessons had been drilled into them time and again- even her sisters were not allies, but merciless competition. But she was the first to resolve and plan her way past the fear to defy him. Years of obedience, of spilling the blood of others to preserve her own, and she’d finally come to realize that his powers were limited- why else would he need to trade for favors from one such as Ronan? The galaxy is vast, his reach and attention limited, and he no longer leaves Sanctuary. But she still freezes for an instant. She’d spent too much of her life as a thrall not to wonder if this will ultimately bring more pain than pleasure. A sexual relationship will only reinforce the connection she feels, and he's both reckless and mortal.

Peter pulls back to study the look in her eyes as soon as he feels her still. Gamora spooks easily and there’s more at stake here than a quick lay --for both of them. “Wanna stop?” he asks, panting.

She smiles and shakes her head slightly. She trusts him with her life- trusting him with her body is a small step to take, especially considering how much that body is clamoring for the same thing. And she’s determined to _live_ now that she’s free, not merely survive. So she reaches down and efficiently unbuckles and removes his belt, casting it aside. “You’ve promised me pleasure and I’m holding you to it.”

He grins, his earnest eagerness charming her more than that rakish look in his eye. “Well, I’d hate to go back on a bargain. Got the bearing of an honorable man and all.”

That makes her snort with laughter and she tugs him down onto the bunk with her, inhibitions forgotten. He’s not particularly eloquent or clever and he exasperates her every single day. But he makes her laugh, which she supposes is a kind of magic after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just trying to get this out of my head before it becomes a multi-chap. (I might fail.)


	2. Jar of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he's not the only one who was forced to be one-of-a-kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Who do you think you are?/ Running 'round leaving scars/ Collecting your jar of hearts/ And tearing love apart_

It’s tricky finding enough work for their motley crew on the legal(ish) side of things at first: they’re all much more familiar with locating opportunities in murkier waters and working independently.

But Nova Corps starts referring transport/security jobs and they focus on treasure hunts when trawling bounty boards- hazardous retrieval is a cakewalk when they all pitch in knowledge and skills. There’s enough challenge to keep life interesting and they make a decent amount of units _._  

But risk and reward are closely correlated. And it’s hard to ignore the extra units on outlaw scores- especially if getting caught looks _really_ unlikely. 

It’s a particular shock the first time Peter sneaks a look at Gamora’s screen while she’s checking her inbox. “Holy crap- is that a normal commission for an assassination? We could totally refit the _Milano_ with that!” 

Rocket immediately pokes his head over her arm and curses. “ _You’re just deleting it?_ Some of us would appreciate better soundproofing on this tin can, you know!” 

“Don’t be so easily fooled- this could be bounty hunter bait. And I’ve shed enough blood in another’s name,” she states tightly.

Drax gives a satisfied nod, Peter squeezes her shoulder, and Groot tilts his head sympathetically.

Rocket throws his arms up in the air, utterly disgusted.

“Oh, like one more little murder is going to have cosmic consequences! Think about how many lives you can improve,  _save_ even, with a payout like that! _Starting with ours_.” 

 

Their friends all speak at once:

“ _Rocket._ ”

“I am Groot!”

“The lady has decided.”

 

He glares around the room. “I’m just sayin’ I don’t mind pulling the trigger if she’s having some inexplicable crisis of conscience.” 

“ _Rocket!_ ” 

“Alright, alright! Geez. Save one stupid planet and you’re all a bunch of saints,” he grumbles.

 

* * *

 

She’s on watch that night when Rocket emerges from his bunk, scratching at his ears and yawning as he plops down in front of the Comm unit. 

She gives him a curious look over her tablet. “Sacrificing rest for a call?” 

Rocket shrugs. “She’s planetside- makes for calls at odd hours.” 

They both lapse into silence as he leans back in the chair, but his whiskers twitch uneasily when he notices the look on her face.

“…Bad news?” 

She inhales, blinking. Perhaps Udonta was correct to label her sentimental. “No, this is data on the Zen Whoberi- my people. Peter says he acquired it to see how… _compatible…_ we’d be.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, although she can’t help smiling a little. “…There were also creative works in the directory. I couldn’t recognize most of them... but this is a children’s story.”

Rocket sits up, frowning. “That’s when you were taken?”

She inclines her head, studiously detached now. “Before Thanos destroyed my homeworld and people. He’s obsessed with Death, and I was made to represent both Extinction and Murder with my mortal flesh. The young are easier to control and train, but frail- I was the first to survive his…handiwork. And he was so pleased that he made more of us- I can understand well why my sisters despise me.” 

He’s completely awake now, fur standing on end. “You make it sound like you were some art project.” 

Gamora arches a brow. “The powerless are merely objects to the powerful. Were you not created in a similar way?” 

His shoulders twitch. “Nah, I was made to do menial labor that required creativity and intelligence in cramped and/or dangerous environments. Non-native species don’t have rights or representation even if you make them sentient, so.” He shrugs bitterly. “I’m sure they regretted making us smart enough to blast our way to freedom.” 

The Comm beeps and flashes a picture of a sleekly furred mammal, and Gamora immediately climbs the stairs to the cockpit to give him privacy for the call.

 

* * *

 

They never bring up their conversation again. But the next time they’re trawling the bounty boards Rocket scrolls past the murder-for-hires despite the tempting commissions. Groot makes a puzzled sound.

“We’re more than what we were made for,” he growls in reply. 

Gamora smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos if you can recognize who calls Rocket. ;) And yes, I’ve seen the deleted scene and I think Gamora was either exaggerating to Nebula about how young they were or it was cut because it conflicts with her statement to Peter.


	3. Shut Up and Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LJ kinkmeme fill: [“Peter's in his captain's chair. Gamora rides him. :)”](http://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/2727.html?thread=1218983#t1218983) Because sex can both complicate and fix things. Rating bumped up to M for obvious reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So if you feel me let me know (know, know)/ Come on now, what you waiting for (for, for)?/ My engine’s ready to explode (explode, explode)/ So start me up and watch me go go go go…_

It bothers her to realize why sleep is eluding her. Gamora's regeneration implant constantly regulates healing in her body, but her brain needs several sleep cycles to function optimally. This is her scheduled rest time, and she’d been trained to snatch sleep regardless of physical discomfort, screams echoing from the torture chambers or the muffled sobbing of one of her sisters.

But it’s become an incredibly pleasant habit, falling asleep in a state of post-coital satisfaction with Peter's body warming her back. She’s even gotten used to his half-conscious movements-- she goes straight back to sleep now when he slings an arm or leg over her.

It’s not just the relative lack of body heat: with the recovery mission dragging long and differing watches, they haven’t had an opportunity for sexual contact for a few days. 

And she feels… restless, as if she’s keyed up in anticipation. In the past she’d overrule such irrelevant noise from her body the way she’d been trained to deal with inconvenient pain and hunger: Thanos had no mercy for dull, brittle blades. But she’s chosen to forge herself a different kind of existence, and her mind refuses to stay restfully blank. She keeps thinking about Peter's hand between her legs, his mouth on her nipples, the way it feels when he thrusts… She clenches her thighs together before she makes a decision. 

If they do it up in the cockpit the noise shouldn’t carry down here- a nice change from trying to be discreet while their friends rest a short distance away. Besides, everybody else should be asleep now.

She opens the privacy partition with a quiet hiss, quickly assessing the shut partitions on the other bunks before she zips on her boots, crosses the darkened common room and climbs the stairs. 

 

Peter is in the Captain’s chair, multitasking to stay awake. He’s checking bounty boards on half the screen; arguing on a Ravager messageboard on the other, and he’s got his Walkman on. But he starts when he spots her in his peripheral vision.

She smirks, raising her eyebrows when he smiles at her, abashed. 

He pulls off the headphones. “You startled me.” 

“Those block potentially important auditory cues,” she admonishes. 

“Well, I used to be able to crank the stereo.” His eyes travel up her body appreciatively: her boots paired with that undergarment she sleeps in and her tousled hair make a combo that does things to his heart rate. “But you’re all supposed to be sleeping.” 

She shrugs lightly and skirts around the throttle. 

He’s smirking as he pivots the chair arms back so he can pull her close more easily. “You need something to help you sleep? Maybe a bit of pelvic sorcery?” 

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes but doesn’t reply, grabbing his shirt and straddling him for a kiss instead. 

He chuckles, delighted to oblige. 

That’s all they do at first, a bit of old-fashioned necking with his hands stroking her hair and spine. But soon enough she slides her hand down his stomach so she can unbuckle his belt, rocking herself impatiently over the bulge of his erection. 

“Need access,” he murmurs, sliding a practiced hand over her ass to gently tug at her panties. 

She dismounts to slide them off while he hastily shucks his pants down to his knees. 

Her eyes go straight to his erection as it springs free, and he makes a choked sound of surprise when she briskly pushes him back and straddles him again. 

They both moan as she takes him without any more preamble.

“Holy crap. You’re so wet,” he groans. He can’t arch his hips as much as he wants because his legs are trapped and the angle’s all wrong, so he pulls her closer, burying his face in her hair. 

She nods, rocking to sink him deeper. “It was…very distracting.” 

He gives a strangled laugh. “Well…I’m…always glad… to help you out…” 

It’s less intimate than usual- she wishes absently that they’d taken the time to remove more clothing. But it's _so good_ to finally get close enough to ride out the tension twisting inside her. 

It doesn’t take her long to peak, and it’s all he can do not to come with her when she arches and cries out. 

He’d been missing the devil-may-care days of just letting the computer take over at night, of having his whole ship to himself. And with all the heckling the Ravagers have been giving him, he’d also been second-guessing this whole relationship thing. 

But having her surprise him with hot, hungry sex sure makes the misgivings seem stupid. They might both be rookies at this, but the perks are still awesome. 

She pants and leans her cheek against his forehead in the wake of her orgasm, luxuriating in the residual pulses of ecstasy, the blissful relief. 

But he shifts and pulls her hips down, thrusting deep, and she meets his eyes in confusion. He’s still so deliciously hard… 

He kisses her, open mouthed, tantalizing. “Nuh-uh, no slowing down. I wanna see how many times I can get you off when you’re this revved up.” 

He grins when she moans and eagerly picks up the pace again.

 

* * *

 

She’s exhausted when she finally climbs back into the bunk, dropping her boots to the ground and curling up as she palms the partition shut. 

Sleep claims her almost immediately, but her last smug thought is how much she’s looking forward to her next night watch.

 


	4. Roots before branches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I gotta have roots before branches/ To know who I am before I know who I wanna be/ And faith to take chances/ To live like I see a place in this world for me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops these just keep getting longer and plottier. But hey, it’s a good excuse for updating late, yes? Warning for violence/ gore.

Gamora had imagined freedom differently.

Reality is far less lonely and far more ridiculous: she no longer blinks when plans include a small, potted (but very eager) tree as getaway driver or lovingly cooked meals followed by cheesy Terran entertainment.

But she feels a certain aimlessness- she’s always had a role to play, a hierarchy to follow. Even the way she refuses to use her skills makes her wonder: can resisting a direction determine a course? 

“You’re kidding, right? Normal people don’t need their friends to _be_ anything. And it’s not like you don’t pull your own weight- you know obscure starsystems and geopolitical stuff like none of us do; you do all the crazy gymnast stuff on missions. I mean, do you even care that Groot mostly sits in cockpit looking cute?”

She sighs as she checks the magnetic release on the shovel strapped to her thigh. “Of course not. But he gave his life to save ours, and the rest of you have…specialties. My role is vague at best. I can’t excel at what isn’t defined.”

Peter smiles wryly as he checks the charge on his guns. “Hey. You were the first one to reach out, Guardian. We’ve got your back, no matter what. And you’re a person, not a… tool, so just… try not to worry about how sharp or hard or whatever you think you _should_ be. Maybe just try to figure out what makes you happy.” 

She smiles and inclines her head, leaning against him for a moment. They’re both hesitant to examine their relationship too closely, but she doesn’t mind reflecting on their “family”. They’d shared the burden of unlimited power; defeated an invincible foe. Running and hiding may have been far more prudent, but despite the vague nature of it, having a place among them feels earned and right. 

She often wonders how Nebula is faring out there on her own. That Thanos isn’t actively hunting them is both reassuring and unnerving: she desperately hopes that his inaction shows that his power is waning or already greatly reduced. After all, he recently lost Loki, the Chitauri and his bid for Terra and the Tesseract. And now the Orb has also slipped from his grasp, with several of his most powerful agents lost in the process. 

But she knows from bitter experience that it’s always harder to gain your feet again when you aren’t braced for the blow; recognizes that her vigilance is starting to slip as time passes. 

After all, there are more immediate concerns to face day-to-day, such as Groot’s stall in growth and constant complaints of hunger. They’ve seen all kinds of botanists and doctors and tried supplements and different kinds of light. When the proposals for invasive procedures started coming (“Well, he _is_ a scientific curiosity, and the more we know about his biology…”), they privately decided to try a more basic solution before getting more “professional opinions”: Rocket suspects that there must be something about the bacteria or mineral content on Planet X that allows Flora Colossus to mature and blossom properly. 

Gamora raises her brows. “Nova Corps will not be happy if they discover what we’ve done. ” 

Peter spreads his hands, exasperated. “It’s just a bit of dirt and water, and it’s not like we can _ask_ since he’s been outlawed and exiled. We can just blast our way back into space if hostile locals show up.” 

“I don’t disagree- we must help our friend. I’m merely observing that what we desire conflicts with what makes our allies happy.” 

He smirks and shrugs, unrepentant. “Story of my life. How do you think I got so good at negotiating?” 

“Quill, Gamora- get up here!” Rocket calls. 

They join the others in the cockpit. Groot is craning as far out of his pot as he can reach, fronds plastered to the window as he peers outside. There’s a certain wistful hunger in his demeanor that tugs at all of them. 

“I’m putting the Milano down here- that’s freshwater. Drax and Peter: you two muscle-bound lugs grab the H2O and then hustle back. Then we switch pilots so Gamora and I can sneak into the woods to get the soil- it’s lighter, we’re lighter on our feet, plus we can see better in the dark. There’s a gunman on each team, but keep the Milano guns ready too- Groot says if we get company, it’ll be coming from the wooded areas.” 

“Watch the friendly fire,” Peter warns, grabbing a container, turning on his mask and jerking his head at Drax. Drax nods and hefts the other container and pump. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll try not to singe your butts,” Rocket grumbles. “Let’s just try to do this quick.”

They watch pensively as Drax and Peter clamber out, crunch over the rocky waterfront and start pumping water into the storage tanks. Peter watches the surroundings warily, guns drawn, as Drax single-mindedly focuses on filling containers and switching the pump. They lug back the full containers without issue, and the teams swap as planned. 

Gamora and Rocket make far less noise when they exit the ship and steal into the wooded area. There’s a low hum coming from insects calling for mates and the air is redolent with the scent of moss and leaves. It tugs at memories long buried, but they have a purpose here and she’s too well trained to be distracted into examining them now. As soon as Rocket finds a good spot with the scanner, Gamora sets down the backpack, extends the shovel and starts filling it. 

Rocket’s fur stands up after a few seconds, and he immediately stows the scanner. 

The woods have gone quiet- too quiet. 

“Bad vibe, Gamora,” he mutters urgently. 

“I am aware. But surely we should get more than a scraping of topsoil and detritus. Do you sense movement?” she asks quietly. 

Rocket’s whiskers tremble as he searches the surroundings, digits on the trigger before he jerks his head. _Negative._ She raises a brow, glancing at the shovel in a silent question and he waves his paw to urge her on, aggravated. They’re in for it no matter what now- might as well finish the job. 

The muffled sound of her digging seems obscenely loud now but there’s still no concrete threat, just a malevolent sort of watchfulness. 

Rocket despises feeling like prey and he bares his teeth in a silent snarl, searching the dark for any sort of target. 

Gamora focuses on getting as deep as she can: this might be their only shot at this, so the more soil layers she can get, the better. 

Soon enough the pack is full, and she closes it up briskly before retracting and re-stowing the shovel.

Rocket jerks his gun impatiently, wishing Gamora would quit being so unflappably precise. 

It’s not until she hoists the backpack onto her back that the sullen silence snaps. 

There’s a rumble underfoot accompanied by several furious roars of “I AM GROOT!” 

They both sprint for the Milano. 

Rocket knows what’s coming, and he’s ready when Groot limbs come shooting at them out of the dark. Gamora hacks off the ones attacking from the front, leaving him to guard the rear. There are still no Groots in sight though- Rocket’s never seen _their_ Groot get that kind of range when extending his limbs, and it’s both scary as hell and confirmation that whatever Groot needs to flourish has got to be here. 

The Milano lights up and its engines whine to life: their friends have heard the gunfire. Just a little further… hopefully Peter doesn’t shoot them when they come barrelling out of the woods.

They’ve almost made it out when Rocket turns back and wheels the gun too late. “Dast-!” 

Gamora cries out when she’s impaled through the gut, and she buckles and grabs at the limb reflexively even as it lifts her aloft. 

Rocket sheers it off an instant later with a concentrated burst of gunfire, and she stumbles and falls to the ground with it. He stands next to her, blasting the follow-up limb and keeping anxious watch. He can hear movement in the forest now- the Groots are closing in.

“I was just checking behind us! Aw shiiit.”

She grimaces, ruthlessly pushing past the pain as she takes stock of the wooden limb protruding from her front. Her ocular implant has been relaying a list of warnings and her regeneration implant is already flooding her system with nanites and ramping up her oxygen intake to stave off shock. 

“Through and through. Multiple perforated organs. Missed the spine,” she gasps. She staggers back to her feet, grips the limb and hacks off as much excess as she can while Rocket provides cover. “They come. We must get back to the Milano.” 

Rocket curses and they move as fast as they can. Gamora is hunching over the injury, but her determination is stronger than the pain- survival demands it, and she’s had a lifetime of practice. At least the number of limbs coming at them has fallen drastically. 

Drax jumps out to give them a hand as soon as they are in view- she’s obviously wounded. 

Peter’s panicked voice comes over the comm. “Gamora’s hurt?! What the fuck- you didn’t call for backup?!” 

“Just keep an eye on the treeline, Romeo- we’ve got company!” Rocket snaps, firing randomly into the trees as Drax supports Gamora in that last stretch to the ship. 

The climb up is more painful than the race back, and she doesn’t look at Peter when she clambers clumsily into the ship and slumps against the wall- he and Groot are outwardly focused on covering their retreat but the smell of his fear is like a slap in the face. As soon as Rocket leaps inside after Drax, he blasts the engine. 

Limbs shoot out of the treetops, but their ascent is fast enough to avoid getting snagged, 

“Gamora? _Tell me what happened_ ,” Peter says before whirling back when the computer flashes a warning. “What the- they have drones here?!” 

“I simply need to get this out,” she says through gritted teeth. The pain is harder to ignore as the adrenaline surge wears off- time for damage control. 

“Just get us out of here, Quill! We got her. Drax, cut the pack off and help me get her downstairs onto the table. Gamora.” Rocket hesitates and she opens her eyes and nods. 

“Regeneration implant is in my breastbone. Standard FO interface.” 

“It connects to the others?”

“Yes, but the password changes in ten second intervals,” she says, turning her head so Drax can get a better angle with the knife. She exhales with relief when the weight on her shoulders eases. 

“Keep her conscious. I’m going down to prep.” Rocket disappears down the stairs. 

“This is a fearsome wound,” Drax says as he lifts her, navigating the stairs carefully as the ship swerves. “Your endurance is commendable.”

“I seldom fall short of my objective,” she replies. 

Drax gives her a curious look when she smiles suddenly. “Is this situation amusing?” 

“No. And yes. I might not be here if not for the last time I failed a mission.” 

Drax raises his eyebrows in wry acknowledgement as he lays her on the table. Rocket’s cleared it by shoving everything onto a chair and he’s hurriedly connecting a tablet to a FO cable. “What, you reminiscing? Not planning on kicking it, are you?” 

She gives him a contemptuous look and he smirks back, satisfied. _  
_

“You know much about her body, companion,” Drax says, quickly looking away as she unzips her jacket.

Rocket shrugs, getting the FO cable and tablet ready. “No time for modesty, Drax. Grab the tweezers and get ready to pull back her skin so I can find the port. Me and her- we got mods. Hurt like hell going in but they keep us alive in these kinds of situations. Well- mostly.” 

She raises her brows in grim agreement as she grips her sword like a scalpel, exhaling steadily as she slices the skin above her breastbone. 

Drax grimaces with distaste but he obediently spreads the skin so Rocket can insert the fiber optic connector. The tablet beeps and Rocket hands it to her soberly. 

“I trust you. All of you,” she reassures him, entering the password. 

The tablet obediently mirrors the display in her ocular implant and Rocket grimaces as he scans it. “Didn’t want to say it in front of Quill, huh?” 

“Alarming him could affect his piloting. Then we all die,” she says defensively. As if punctuating her point, the ship shakes and they can hear the guns blasting. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he opens the command input. “Drax, get a couple packs of drip saline and an intravenous unit from the replicator- this is going to be messy.”

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as he judges them safe, Peter bounds down the stairs. He pales at the sight that greets him: Gamora’s unconscious on the table, there’s blood everywhere and an IV tube in her arm hooked up to a jury-rigged saline drip hanging off the ceiling. Drax is holding the branch while Rocket taps furiously at a tablet connected by cable to the center of her chest. 

“You cut her open _more_?! _And why haven’t you pulled that thing out yet?_ ” 

“Because she would have bled out, you dast idiot! Get back in the cockpit and pilot the goddamn ship!” Rocket snaps.

“They’re no longer in pursuit and what’s going on _here_ is pretty fucking important to me!” 

Rocket doesn’t pull his eyes from the screen, typing as fast as he can. “Quill: we need to focus on fixing her, not calming you down. So do us all a favor, get back up there and re-pot Groot if you want to do something useful. It’s what Gamora would want, and hopefully it’ll make this whole operation worth something!” 

“Rocket. This is her mate and our friend,” Drax says, frowning. “His concern is not unwarranted.” 

Rocket seethes with frustration. “Look, we all get it! You’ve been banging, you’ve got all these _feelings_ for each other! But her mods don’t _think_ \- they don’t know that we’re going to _remove_ this thing, just that it’s _there_. I’m doing the best I can to redirect her nanites- every time we pull out the limb a little further the bleeding and reconstruction start all over again. This isn’t some simple fix.” 

Peter shakes his head, feeling nauseous and helpless. “She survived being blasted into space.” 

“Not the same kind of trauma. You’re making me type slower, Peter. _Shut up and let me concentrate._ ” 

He swallows hard and looks at her. Feeling like this again wasn’t part of the plan. “Fine. I’ll be upstairs with Groot.” 

Rocket sighs, sparing him a sympathetic glance. “I’ll send Drax up with an update as soon as I can.”

 

* * *

 

 

When she wakes, she’s aware of a hand in hers. 

She smiles, but as soon as she squeezes it her eyes fly open in surprise. Peter’s snoring on his bunk- Groot is the one next to her. 

“I am Groot?” 

She smiles weakly. 

He’s already gained inches in both girth and height and the colour in his leaves is far more vibrant. 

She swallows and struggles to speak- her throat is so dry. “Fine. A little thirsty.” 

He checks her readings on the tablet and nods. Then he carefully steps out of the pot before releasing her hand, his gait cautious at first before he moves more confidently to the bottle placed at the end of the bunk. 

He’s so proud and pleased with himself when he brings it to her. 

“I am Groot!” 

She laughs low. “Yes, I see that. I am also pleased.” 

She takes his hand and helps him settle back into the dirt in his pot before relaxing and taking a sip of water.

 

All is well.


End file.
